olution of 1782 as a resurrection from the dead, and of the Union as a re-entombment of his country. Sometimes his spirit sinks into irrepressible melancholy. Still there is dignity in his sorrow. He seems to be standing as a mourner at his country's tomb, celebrating in solemn strains her glory and her fall. Like one of the ancient bards of Ireland, he contemplates with sad but composed spirit the mighty, but inevitable ruin. "He represents the great principles of freedom as outraged and depressed, and deplores their fall; but we are perpetually reminded that they deserved a nobler destiny, and are made to feel the same sentiment of exalted melancholy with which we would bend over the grave of the illustrious dead." At other times he gives way to passionate bitterness. He can not think without anger of the miserable men by whom his country has been betrayed. He compares Ireland to "a bastinadoed elephant kneeling to receive his paltry rider."

One who knew Curran intimately, says, "From the time that the knell of his country's independence was tolled, his spirit sunk-as Cicero, when the Senate and the Forum were no longer open to his free exertions, drooped his wing, grew sad and fretful, even with his friends, so was it with Curran, 'a mountain of lead was on his heart,' his genius faded, and like the green bough, when severed from the parent stem, his verdure withered, his spirit bloomed no more."

A few days before his death, Curran dined with a friend in London. After dinner he conversed for a while with his usual animation, but some one alluding to Irish politics, he immediately hung down his head, and burst into tears.

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his

The oppression of this great calamity, acting upon sensitive nature, saddened all his latter days. Once unbosoming his sorrow to a companion of his walks, he said, "Depend upon it, my dear friend, it is a serious misfortune in life to have a mind more sensitive or more cultivated than common-it naturally elevates its possessor into a region which he must be doomed to find nearly uninhabited." "It was a deplorable thing," says Phillips, “to see him in the decline of life, when visited by this constitutional melancholy. I have not unfrequently accompanied him in his walks upon such occasions, almost at the hour of midnight. He had gardens attached to the Priory, of which he was particularly fond, and into these gardens, when so affected, no matter at what hour, he used to ramble. It was then almost impossible to divert his mind from themes of sadness. The gloom of his own thoughts discolored every thing, and from calamity to calamity he would wander on, seeing in the future nothing for hope, and in the past nothing but disappointment. You could not recognize in him the same creature, who but an hour before had 'set the table in a roar,' his gibes, his merriment, his flashes of wit, were all extinguished. He had a favorite little daughter, who was a sort of musical prodigy. She had died at the age of twelve, and he had her buried in the midst of a small grove, just adjoining this garden. A little rustic memorial was raised over her, and often have I seen him, the tears 'chasing each other' down his cheeks, point to his daughter's monument, and 'wish to be with her, and at rest.'"*

* Recollections of Curran and some of his Cotemporaries, p. 289.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ROBERT EMMET.-COLLEGE ELOQUENCE.-VISITS PARIS AFTER THE TREATY OF AMIENS.-RETURNS TO DUBLIN.-EMBARKS IN THE CONSPIRACY.-THE INSURRECTION TAKES PLACE AT NIGHT.- IS INSTANTLY SUPPRESSED.-EMMET LINGERS NEAR DUBLIN.-IS ARRESTED. -- SPEECH ON HIS TRIAL.-FAREWELL LETTERS.-HIS EXECUTION.-THE BROKEN HEART.

WITH the consummation of the Union, the struggle for Irish independence may be said to have terminated. The only attempt against the government since was the insurrection of Robert Emmet in 1803. This was from the outset desperate. It did not extend beyond Dublin, and was instantly crushed, and derives importance chiefly from the talents and melancholy fate of its young leader.

During the terrible scenes of '98, Robert Emmet was too young to have any part in public affairs. He was at that time a student in the University of Dublin. Here he was not unobservant of the condition of his count and already he began to give proofs of a patriotic ardor and eloquence which afforded the brightest promise of future fame. Says Moore, who was at this time his College companion, “Were I to number the men, among all I have ever known, who appeared to me to combine, in the greatest degree, pure moral worth with intellectual power, I should, among the highest of the few, place Robert

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Emmet. Wholly free from the follies and frailties of youth, though how capable he was of the most devoted passion events afterward proved-the pursuit of science, in which he eminently distinguished himself, seemed, at this time, the only object that at all divided his thoughts with that enthusiasm for Irish freedom, which in him was an hereditary as well as national feeling,-himself being the second martyr his father had given to the cause.

"Simple in all his habits, and with a repose of look and manner indicating but little movement within, it was only when the spring was touched that set his feelings, and -through them-his intellect in motion, that he at all rose above the level of ordinary men. On no occasion was this more peculiarly shown than in those displays of oratory with which, both in the Debating and the Historical Society, he so often enchained the attention and sympathy of his young audience. No two individuals indeed could be much more unlike to each other than was the same youth to himself, before rising to speak and after;— the brow that had appeared inanimate and almost drooping, at once elevating itself in all the consciousness of power, and the whole countenance and figure of the speaker assuming a change as of one suddenly inspired."*

During the brief interval of peace between the treaty of Amiens and the recommencement of war, travelers from England swarmed to the Continent. Among these was Robert Emmet, at this time but twenty-two years old, and of buoyant and enthusiastic spirits. After a few months in France he returned to Ireland, full of the pro* Moore's Life of Fitzgerald, vol. i. p. 217.

ject of Revolution. It is commonly said in the histories of this plot, that he had no thought of it until after his return. But I am assured by one who met him often in Paris, that his friends suspected then that he was meditating an attempt against the government.* Thomas Addis Emmet had just been released from Fort George, and gone to the Continent, and on Robert's way home through Belgium, the brothers met at Brussels. There is no evidence that Thomas was at this time aware of Robert's design. Had he been, he would probably have dissuaded him from it as a rash attempt. Besides, his tenderness for his younger brother would have made him hold him back from dangers to which he had not hesitated to expose himself. But once more in Dublin, the indignation against oppression carried away the young patriot. The conspiracy now took shape. A plan was formed to attack and carry the Castle of Dublin, and to organize immediately a Provisional Government. If the capital were once mastered, it was confidently expected that the insurrection in a week would become general throughout the island. A proclamation to the Irish people was prepared, commencing, "A band of patriots, mindful of their oath, and faithful to their engagement as United Irishmen, have determined to give freedom to their country, and a period to the long career of English oppression." In this they declared their object to be "to establish a free and indepen

* On his trial he disclaimed being the originator of it. He said, "I did not create the conspiracy. I found it when I arrived here; I was solicited to join it; I took time to consider of it, and I was told expressly that it was no matter whether I did join it or not, it would go on."